Devil in the Detail (Scott Cullen Mysteries) (11 page)

"What counselling is this?" asked Cullen.
 

Cook nodded. "All of the members of the church receive counselling with Father Mulgrew," he said. "Some of them have it on a monthly basis, like our Sophie and Isaac. Most of the older kids have it on a weekly basis. Jamie had been receiving it, until he left the group."

"What was he like before he went off the rails?"

"As I said, he was a kind, loving boy," said Cook. "He was a straight A student and very diligent with it."

"Mr Cook," said Cullen, "in cases like your son's there is usually a rational explanation for such drastic changes in behaviour. Can you think of any potential triggers?"

"The only trigger is that Satan has possessed my son," said Cook, tears welling in his eyes. "That's what started him getting involved with bad groups."

"Do you mean gangs?" asked Cullen.

"Not city gangs as such," said Cook, "just undesirable elements in East Lothian. Prestonpans, Tranent, that sort of place."

Cook said the names of the less salubrious towns with a curl to his lip.

"I noticed a Renault Clio out there," said Cullen. "I take it that is his?"

Cook looked up at the ceiling. "Yes, he passed his test just two weeks after his seventeenth," he said. "We bought the car as a desperate attempt to try and bring him back from the abyss. It is pretty much the only test he's passed."

"Do you know where he is?" asked Cullen.

The Cooks exchanged a look. "I'm afraid not," answered Wilma. "We haven't seen him since yesterday."

"Have you any idea where he could be?" asked Cullen.

Cook shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine, I'm afraid," he said. "As I say, our son is a troubled boy. We don't know where he is from day to day."

"You said you saw him yesterday?" asked Caldwell.

Wilma Cook slowly exhaled. "Yes, at lunchtime," she said. "He grabbed one of those microwave hamburgers, mumbled something at me and then went up to his room. We went to see some friends in Haddington with Sophie and Isaac then we went to the supermarket. When we got back, Jamie had already left."

"What time would this have been?" asked Cullen.

"It was late, back of eight, maybe?" said Cook. "One of the plates was out on the counter, so I presume that he'd just left."

"And you have no idea where he might be?"

Cook scowled at Cullen. "As I've explained, Jamie is a law unto himself," he said.
 

Cullen looked to Caldwell. "Any more questions?"

"Not from me," she said.
 

Robert Cook gave them Jamie's mobile number.

"Okay, thanks very much for your time," said Cullen, getting to his feet.

Cullen lucked out and pulled into a parking space directly in front of the station. Caldwell was on the phone to Bilston to try and obtain Jamie Cook's record.
 

He sat and stared at the street and the cars in front of them, the harsh winter sun appearing from behind the clouds, lurking low in the sky, almost touching the tips of the spires at the far end of the street. The high street was at its widest point here, the ancient mercat cross in the middle of the road splitting the traffic around the circular stone base, which Cullen imagined would be full of flowers in the summer but was now a patch of mud. The rows of modern shops, intermingled with more traditional outlets, were in stark contrast with the upper floors of the buildings and their ancient Scottishness. It reminded Cullen of the Royal Mile in Edinburgh, but also of the crow step gables in Culross in west Fife, an ancient town marooned in the Elizabethan era while the rest of Scotland moved on. Garleton had a similar feel but it hadn't been impervious to the march of progress - the old town centre had its chain shops, and with every passing year new housing estates were thrown up alongside supermarkets, dual carriageways and roundabouts.

Cullen saw Caldwell jot information down about Jamie Cook. They desperately needed to speak to him, if only to shut up all of the innuendo and hearsay that was already beginning to cloud the investigation.
 

Cullen couldn't get his head around the way that these high-earning professionals had been so rapidly converted to this faith. In Cullen's experience, religion was the province of three categories: older people frightened of death; people his age who were dealing with a tragedy, say the death of a parent at a young age; and the born-again, total fuck-ups who'd been alcoholics, gamblers, or just nasty bastards, and who were looking for absolution for their sins or crimes. The Gibsons and Cooks didn't obviously fall into any category. The world was pretty broken now, thought Cullen, with austerity measures and a failing global economy - maybe the end of days scenario meant that Mulgrew's group would thrive. Or maybe they were just another type of fuck ups looking to repent their many sins.

Cullen took his iPhone out of his jacket and dialled the number he'd been given for Jamie Cook. It rang a few times and then went to voicemail. He left a short, curt message and hung up.

"No answer?" asked Caldwell, snapping her phone shut. Cullen had abused her many times for her old phone, what the networks now called 'feature phones'. She would defend herself with having to pay for a mortgage, which usually shut Cullen up.

"No answer," he confirmed. "Did you get anything?"

"His Dad's story checked out," she said. "Ten minor crimes. Picked up thirty-one times. Nothing serious but ten is a lot."

"It is."

"So what do you reckon?" asked Caldwell.

Cullen looked out of the window down the street - the leads were drying up, he thought. "We really need to speak to Jamie Cook."

"Seems like it."

"I am absolutely starving," he said.
 

"Me too," said Caldwell.

He checked his watch - it was just before two. "Christ, how did it get to that time?"

"That's called being busy," she said.

"I don't think I can face Bain on an empty stomach," he said. "I can't decide which of the three glories across the road I'm going to sample the delights of."

"Mickey D's for me," she said.

"Not a fan," said Cullen. "It'll have to be Subway."

They got out of the car and crossed the road. The local Big Issue salesman - a young guy with a hooded top - approached him as they reached the other side. Cullen found it impossible to decline him.

"You're such a sucker for them," said Caldwell.

"Am I?"

"That's the fifth time I've seen them get you."

He shrugged. "Poor guy needs all the help he can get."

"I'll see you in the station," she said. She walked off towards the MacDonald's.
 

Cullen checked his wallet - he was down to a fiver, which should be enough. He entered the Subway and joined the three-strong queue. He looked at the display behind the counter. He wasn't much of a fan of the chain, either, but he figured that it was the least worst option. He struggled to make a decision but settled on a pastrami sub. He took his phone out and tried Jamie Cook again while he waited. It went straight through to voicemail this time, no rings. Cullen frowned and pocketed the phone.

The queue shuffled forward one place as the first customer headed off. It was ADC Law. She smiled at Cullen then looked him up and down.
 

"How are you doing?" she asked.

"Oh, you know, fine," he said.

"Your boss has been swearing his head off in there," she said.

"You've not seen anything yet," he said.

She laughed loudly. "I can imagine."

"What did you go for?" he asked.

"Cajun chicken," she said.

"You like it hot?"

She nodded. "Oh, yes." She raised an eyebrow. "What are you going for?"

"Pastrami, I think."

"Mmm."

Cullen's phone rang. He held it up to her. "Better take this," he said, thinking it would be Jamie Cook.

She tapped his arm and grinned. Cullen felt himself blush. "I'll see you back over the road." He nodded and she walked off.

He checked the display on his phone. It was Sharon. He reddened further. He needed to stop whatever Law was up to.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey. How's it going?"

"Flat out," he said. "Out in East Lothian. Child murder."

"Oh magic, just what you want," said Sharon.

"What about you?"

"Stabbing in Wester Hailes," she said.

"Trying to work out who's the luckier."

She laughed. "Listen, are you coming to mine before the Burn's Supper?"

"If you want me to," he said.

"Is there any chance you can get some cat litter on your way home?"

"I'll try," he said, shuffling forward one in the queue. "Can't promise anything. This isn't looking like it's going to wrap up any time this week."

"We need some," she said. "Fluffy peed in the bath again."

Cullen suddenly had a moment of clarity. In the past six months, his life had changed so much that he wasn't talking about clubbing, but was now talking about cats pissing in baths. Six months ago, it was what he wanted, but now...

"I'll see what I can do," he said.

"Thanks," she said. "Are you okay?"

"Aye, why wouldn't I be?"

"Scott, you're investigating a child murder, it's known as harrowing."

"I'm trying to be a seasoned detective, Sharon," he said, "this stuff has to just wash off me."

She laughed. "I'm serious."

"I know, I know," he said. "Look, it's okay. We'll get to the bottom of this and I'll be fine."

"Just make sure you are," she said. "I'd better go. Love you."

"See you later," he said.

He ended the call, pocketed the phone and wondered why he couldn't say the 'L word' back.

Fifteen minutes later and Cullen sat at the back of the Incident Room, finishing off a foot long sub which had filled his stomach if not satisfied his taste buds. The Cajun chicken might have been the better option.

Bain had managed to obtain upwards of twenty officers, the majority of whom had come from the other East Lothian stations. Law, McLaren, Murray and Lamb sat on office chairs beside Bain, chatting amongst themselves as the great man stared at the newly-installed whiteboard, trying to conjure some leads from it. Cullen was thankful that Law hadn't come over and recommenced flirting. He really needed to nip that in the bud - he'd done nothing and planned to do nothing, but the fact that Caldwell had noticed meant that it would be out in the open sooner rather than later.

Just as Cullen scrunched up his lunch bag, Irvine appeared carrying a Gregg's bag. He handed Bain a sandwich, sausage roll and coffee then sat down across from Lamb as he tucked into his own lunch. He deposited his wad of gum into a tissue and put it on the table.

Cullen's phone rang - the display showed an unknown number. He knew people that never answered those types of calls but to Cullen it could have been anyone. Any number of contacts in West Lothian had his number - snouts, busybodies, gossips - and, while he didn't work there any more, he could pass them onto someone who did.
 

He answered the call.

He heard music down the line - the rattle of a tambourine and a dirty throbbing bass guitar. He didn't recognise the song - it was the sort of indie rock that Cullen had stood through at countless festivals over the years while his ex-girlfriend tossed her hair from side to side in time with the music, usually before he had to hoist her onto his shoulder. Guitar cut in, choppy chords played on a distorted electric, along with singing in a harsh and guttural Scottish accent, the sort that could have come from either Glasgow or Edinburgh, or any of the myriad towns in between. The voice was singing a mantra - 'Where have you gone?' over and over as the music changed underneath.
 

"Hello?" he called three times. He hung up before the song went anywhere near a chorus.

Nobody else in the room appeared to have noticed. He was sweating - the room was only just warming up from its long, unused chill, but he was soaked through.

Cullen had never received a crank call before. He didn't know what to do. He could think of a hundred people that would want to get at him but couldn't think of a single one that would have his number. The only likely candidate he could think of was Jamie Cook - he'd phoned him half an hour previously. Why he would phone and leave a message like that was beyond Cullen. He had seen some pretty fucked up people over the years - maybe what Mulgrew and the boy's parents said was true and Cook was so far off the rails that goading the police was something he actively pursued.

Bain finally turned round and called the officers to order. Cullen finally joined Bain and Irvine at the front. Caldwell sat next to Lamb.

Bain had managed to appropriate the station's brand new whiteboard, a large screen mounted on a frame with metal legs ending in castors. Bain was at home, poised by it, his hand pointing and prodding as he went over the case so far - Mandy's body, her parents, God's Rainbow, Seamus Mulgrew and Jamie Cook. He had drawn a rough map of Garleton around the Gibsons' house and a larger scale one which showed Garleton and Balgone Ponds. He used Cullen's investigation in the main, plus bits and pieces gathered by Lamb and his team which was news to Cullen - witness statements from the streets around Gibson, Cook and Mulgrew which hadn't yielded anything - as well as the information that Murray had discovered about Charles Gibson's car heading off. A printed photo of Mandy was stuck in the centre, shots of her parents and brother, Thomas, just beside it. Cullen still wanted to speak to her brother one-on-one, away from his parents. There were boxes drawn on the board which represented the Cooks and the Russells as well as a box for Seamus Mulgrew.
 

Mandy's teddy bear was represented by a childish-looking drawing. "Cullen found a teddy bear belonging to the deceased," said Bain. "James Anderson has taken the bear into the lab, but he's given us a health warning that we're likely to get nothing from it other than a fuck load of dust mites. It does confirm the likely chain of events - Mandy somehow got out of the house and was on her way to see her friend Susan Russell. It would appear that Mandy was abducted during this trip." Bain stared at Cullen. "DC Cullen," he said, "you've been doing most of the door to door, so can you give us an update on any suspects?"